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“Ah. Afraid she’ll turn you away. She probably would, just so you know, but you should still try.”
“You don’t understand.”
Brooks leans forward. “I understand more than you’ll ever know, Ace. That’s why I’m here. Because if I had a chance in hell of getting my girl back, I’d tear down the world to make it happen. So, what are we going to do to win her back?”
“We?”
“Figure you could use all the help you can get. Besides, I’m off TV until my knee heals, and it’s boring as fuck just sitting at home.”
I lean back, sighing. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“You said she mentioned something the Elite bitches said, right?” At my nod, he continues, “Then I say we get some answers. It’s a start.”
He’s right. I will not get Isa back just sitting here doing nothing.
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Hell yeah.”
For the first time since Isa left me, I smile.
25
Isabetta
I smile at the doorman as I exit the lobby. Neil stands in front of the black sedan, ready to take me to the store. I’ve stopped trying to speak to him, since he clearly only takes orders from Alessandro. He opens the back door for me, waiting for me to slide onto the leather seat before closing the door.
“Nice to see you, too,” I mutter.
He rounds the car, getting in the driver’s seat.
“Where to, Mrs. Moretti?”
I hate the flicker of hurt that I feel when he calls me that. At first, I would correct him and say Ms. Bass, but he continues to call me Mrs. Moretti, so why waste my breath?
I rattle off the name of a grocery store and I see him scowl.
“I believe Mr. Moretti has you set up with a delivery service.”
I smile sweetly at him. “Your name is Neil, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, Neil, I don’t recall asking for your thoughts. If you have a problem with where I’m going, then I’ll get out and call a cab or an Uber. As for what Mr. Moretti said to you, I don’t give a rat’s ass. Now, are you going to take me to the store, or do I need to save us both time and get out?” His jaw tics, so I nod. “Don’t bother following me.”
I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me. Part of me expected to find the door locked when I got out. My exhale is shaky. Thank god it wasn’t because I don’t think I could deal with it. Not today, when I’ve finally built up enough courage to do what I’ve been putting off for weeks.
I stroll back inside my building, stopping where the concierge sits.
“Please call Mr. Moretti and tell him I will no longer need the service of his incompetent driver. And please hail me a cab.”
“Oh, I can’t do that, Ms. Bass.”
My fist clenches at my side, and I prepare myself for another battle.
He continues, “The building offers a private car service.”
Why in the crap didn’t he mention that weeks ago? Well, to be fair, he probably just assumed I wanted to use my own car…or Alessandro’s car.
